


An Endless Drift And A Silent Affair

by geckoholic



Category: Marvel 616, Secret Avengers
Genre: Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4135773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Out of the three of them, Natasha quickly realized, she's the only one thrilled with their current team constellation.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Endless Drift And A Silent Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andibeth82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/gifts).



> This is tropey and silly and only makes it to porn-levels of realism, buuuut, I do hope it came out somewhat enjoyable anyway. ;D
> 
> The sex is ultimately mutually consensual, but gets initiated without expressed consent from all parties involved. So if that bothers anyone, which I'd understand, consider yourselves warned.
> 
> Beta-read by enigma731. Thank you! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Please Don't Tell My Lover" by Empires.

One of the false assumptions people tend to make about Natasha is that she's antisocial. That she has no friends, and doesn't value company or human kindness. The opposite is true; because she knows what it's like to live without both these things, she actually appreciates them more. She's just picky about who she chooses to spend time with. 

For as long as Jess and Clint had been an item, in whatever way either of them thought, Jess had been wary of her, and Natasha got why. It's no secret how much history Clint and Natasha share, how close they remained, how they keep gravitating towards each other first whenever push comes to shove. He _is_ her best friend. She used to be the center of his universe, once upon a time. Easy to see how that could be intimidating. As soon as Jess and Clint broke up, though? Well. Turns out, their taste in men isn't the only thing she and Natasha share, and ranting about one Clint Barton? Hell of a bonding experience. So are spas and ice cream and landing themselves on the same team. Residual awkwardness aside, Natasha _loves_ being on the same team with both of them, in fact, the familiar and the new and exciting combined to keep her on her toes. 

She could do without the giant talking head in their midst, but there's a downside to everything. 

 

***

 

Okay, honestly? Hill can shove it. Jess would be the first to admit her people skills are sub-par and her taste in men is worse, but reading people? She's good at that. She's always been good at that. For longer than she's been an Avenger, she's been a spy and a PI, and even before that she'd been required to sort friend from foe pretty damn quickly to ensure her own survival. And although Clint and she were volatile as a couple, both of them pushing and pulling to keep the other at just the right distance, he didn't play charade all throughout their... relationship, for lack of a better word. He couldn't have, Jess is pretty sure. Not on purpose. As a defense mechanism, she can see it, letting people underestimate him because he's never learned his own worth. But he's not a con-man. He's not intentionally misleading. For better or for worse, with Clint, it's get-what-you-see. 

The part where Hill might have a point is that, in hindsight, Jess isn't sure she ever really did bother to look. She tumbled and she fell, and then she flailed because he kept one foot in the door and that was the exact opposite of what Jess needed. They were both panicky, trying to keep themselves from harm and not fall too far. She loved him, and she believes in some way he also loved her, but they didn't _know_ each other. And having that fact thrown back at her, shoved into her face with vicious glee, is what stings. Still does, now that Natasha is back and they did their job and everyone's save. 

This would all be so much easier if she didn't have to _work with him_ all the time, didn’t keep ending up on the same team even when she actively tries to avoid exactly it. There's plenty of Avengers. Clint could go get on someone else's nerves. But he doesn't. Here they are, the three of them plus Coulson and Fury, sitting in another one of Hill's I-could-tell-you-everything-right-from-the-start-and-make-your-job-easier-but-I-choose-not-to jokes of a briefing. Natasha looks like she's having the time of her life, sitting between them, playing buffer, while Clint looks like he's bored out of his skull and also keeps stealing glances at Jess, and honestly, how is this her life. 

“ – in the Karakoram mountain range,” Hill closes, arms braced on her desk, glancing from one to the next expectantly, and Jess has a feeling she should've paid closer attention. Oh, whatever. Natasha can fill her in on the flight. She's caught enough to know this mission isn't going to make it into her all-time favorites: hostage situation, glaciers, climbing in the cold, and her ex for backup. _Fantastic._

 

*** 

 

Out of the three of them, Natasha’s quickly realized, she's the only one thrilled with their current team constellation. And, okay – fresh exes, after a cheating-induced breakup. She still has to push down the urge to beat Clint over the head for that one sometimes. But, point is, she cares about both of them, and sitting between them while they glare at each other every time they think the other one's not looking doesn't exactly improve the general atmosphere on missions. Right now, for example, they're fighting over the right knot to be used for securing each other on their climb up the mountain. 

“I'm not saying you don't know how to do your job,” Clint says, groaning. “I didn't even know wall climbing was part of spy training. I'm just saying, that kind of setup – “

“It's _not_ part of spy training, it's the kind of skill Hydra imparts to their brainwashed pet experiments.” She glances towards Natasha, rolling her eyes, but Natasha refuses to get in the middle of this. Betrayal washes over Jess's face briefly when she realizes that, but she continues on unfazed. “And how you learned it in the circus, where it's been like, what, a pole a few meters high, really doesn't matter here.” 

Natasha's had enough. “For the record, you're both wrong.” She walks over to them, snags the rope from Jess hands and weaves it into her preferred knot with quick, nimble fingers. “Can we move on now?”

For about thirty seconds, they both take a time-out from glaring at each other in favor of glaring at her in unison. Good to see they can still agree on _something_. That might be a hint to getting them back on the same page, but while Natasha's all for giving them a common interest to forget about their bickering, she won't offer herself up as a permanent alternative target. 

 

***

 

It's official. This mission is the worst. They're halfway up a damn glacier when the snow storm hits, making mission success as well as extraction a pipe dream. The only thing that saves them from freezing to death out in the cold is an abandoned mountain ranger's cabin, but, all things considered, Jess isn't quite ready to call that _luck_. Natasha managed to get a fire going with some ramshackle furniture no one's going to miss, and they're camped out around it, each of them curled into a sleeping bag that does little to fight off the extreme cold; it's pervasive, seeps through every fiber, every gap in the fabric, no matter now tiny. Jess can feel her teeth chattering, squares her jaw to make it stop, but it's too late – Natasha noticed. Of course she did. Natasha notices everything. 

“We should share,” she says. “Strip down, and use one sleeping bag, together, to share body heat.” Jess hears Clint suck in a breath, and yes, agreed, she'd also like to register her disapproval. But Natasha jumps in before either of them has the chance to get out so much as the first syllable. “Oh, christ, we're all adults. If the temperature drops any further, which it might, I'm not sure we'll get through the night, each of us alone in their own bag.” Her tone brooks no argument; the Black Widow does not make suggestions, she issues orders. 

Even so, Jess doesn't move yet. It makes sense. Natasha is probably right. But this is _her ex_ and _his ex_ , the one who loomed over their entire relationship like a shadow, and... it's just plain wrong. She's not going to decline – if there's one thing stronger than Jess's stubborn streak, it's her sense of self-preservation. She needs a moment or five to get used to the idea, that's all. 

From the audible wince Clint gives before he starts unzipping his bag, she's not the only one who'd rather roll around in honey and then sleep in a beehive. Natasha tsks at both of them. She's halfway out of her uniform already, continues to unceremoniously peel it off while they both stare on. 

When she's done she crawls back into the bag, leaving it open so they can join her, and raises an expectant eyebrow. “Are you going to make me freeze to death while I wait, or are you going to _grow the fuck up_?” 

Clint is the first to sigh deep and then stand to pull his shirt over his head, and if _he_ can brace up, so can Jess. She follows their collective example and crawls in last. The bag isn't made for three, and it takes some rearranging until they all fit in enough so Jess can zip it closed. The effect is almost instantaneous, Clint's body heat from where he's got his chest pressed to her back seeping into her skin, and she can't decide whether the comforting warmth makes up for the fact that it invokes memories she hasn't quite managed to compartmentalize yet. His scent, the rhythm of his breathing; it's all too familiar. To his credit, he holds himself still, hands curled against her back somewhere near her shoulder blades, and delicately so; the only reason he's placed them there, she thinks, is that he doesn't have anywhere to put them _without_ touching her in some way. Jess tries put it all out of her mind and go to sleep, until... well. Respectful as the rest of him might attempt to be, there's parts of him that either didn't get the memo or don't care, from the tell-tale bulge she feels growing against her hip. 

“Jesus fuck.” She knocks her elbow into his ribcage, just a little. For emphasis. ” Are you getting _hard_?” 

He curses under his breath. “Yeah. I don't know, ignore it. I'm only human. I've... been with both of you. It's muscle memory, or something. Pavlovian reflex.”

“Ohh,” Jess spits,” I was totally _planning_ on ignoring it. What else did you think, that I'd turn around and solve things with a quick hand job, for old time's sake, and you –“ 

Her tirade is interrupted by the way he sucks in a breath behind her, angling his crotch away from her body, then pushing back into her. She's about to actually resort to _yelling_ , because _what the fuck_ , when she belatedly realizes she can feel a hand wriggled between their bodies while both of his are still accounted for, resting against her shoulder. That leaves Natasha. Natasha, who's apparently jerking him off, right here and now, while they all share a space made for one person, pressed up almost naked against each other. Maybe it's clinical, logical, the quickest way to diffuse a situation that otherwise could've resulted in a shouting match. Because Natasha wouldn't choose right this moment to resurrect their relationship, she's neither so careless nor so cruel, Jess is sure. Almost sure. Because current evidence points to the contrary, and it's all Jess can do not to give in to thoughts like _maybe they never stopped, maybe they_ have _been fucking behind her back all this time, maybe –_

Clint, meanwhile, has gone rigid. His hips are still moving, which, okay, might be sort of instinctive, but otherwise he's frozen. He's trying to hold out. He's as taken aback as Jess is, but unable to control the way his body responds. Jess feels a quick stab of guilt for suspecting him, for suspecting _both_ of them before she remembers that Clint _did_ go behind her back. And Natasha... what Natasha is trying to accomplish here, Jess has no idea. 

But whatever it is, she seems to have stopped, because Clint ceases to move. He heaves a sigh, shifting around, even though there's no way for him to position himself without touching both of them in multiple places. This could be over. They could move on, try to get through the night and talk about this in the light of day, or call Natasha out right now, or... 

For all her surprise and goddamn justified indignation, Jess finds herself disappointed by the idea that this would be it: they'll go to sleep, forget this ever happened, and she and Clint will get right back to griping at each other tomorrow. And yeah, she knows, everything else would be a bad idea, ripping open wounds that haven't yet scabbed over, but it's also so goddamn _tempting_. He's right here. She can feel him, smell him, almost taste him, and in spite of it all, she _missed_ him... Oh, to hell with it. 

Jess shifts so she can crane her head and look at him, look at his face and gauge his reaction when she worms her hand between their bodies and pulls at the waistband of his boxers. His eyes go wide and she's about to stop before she really started, feeling embarrassed and stupid, when he blinks, bites his lips, and nods. Excitement surges through her, drowning out the awkwardness and the doubt, as she delves deeper. The angle is awkward and doesn't give her much leverage, even when she turns her head back around to minimize the acrobatics, but with his help she manages to pull his boxers down beneath the curve of his ass. He groans when she first touches him, wrapping her fingers around his erection, and goddammit but she _missed_ that sound. He's quick to reciprocate, maneuvers a hand around her torso, underneath her arm for maximum range of movement, and somehow manages to slide it into her panties, the fact that he's taller than her, his limbs longer, working in his favor. 

Jess almost manages to forget Natasha's presence until she feels another hand covering hers and they're working him in tandem; it shouldn't be so hot, Jess isn't the type to share her lovers, she's too jealous, but Clint's making a small, desperate sound in the back of his throat and then she can feel him shift, and the noise she hears next is unmistakably a kiss. She briefly cranes her head again to watch, has to give up on that pretty quickly in order to avoid straining anything, but the glimpse she does manage has a tingle go up her spine; their kiss is dirty, deep, desperate. They're all moving together, his fingers rubbing through her fold with shallow but delicious pressure. Jess strains, opens her legs the little bit further she's actually got room for, and he hasn't unlearned how to make pleasure spark between her eyes yet, flicking his thumb across her clit, constantly and unrelenting. He's nuzzling at her neck, apparently done kissing Natasha, and licks at the sensitive skin behind her ears, gracing it with just a hint of teeth while he thrusts up into their hands. 

All in all, Jess is about ready to crawl out of her skin in the best way possible. 

Natasha removes her hand from above Jess's, and the only indicator for what she might be doing next is Clint widening his legs to give her appropriate leverage as he presses his forehead to Jess shoulder, panting. Jess knows him well enough to tell that he's close; the rhythm of his thrusts becomes erratic, then falters altogether. His fingers on her clit go still. Typical for him; his orgasms are quiet, like he's reached the eye of a storm and doesn't even dare breathe, the only movement quick little jerks of his hips as he spills all over her hand. For a few heartbeats, he doesn't do anything else than press his body to hers, and she wants to exist in this moment forever, keep him close, never let him go again. 

Then he catches himself, his fingers taking up the punishing rhythm on her clit up again, even faster than before, and she stops thinking altogether. Jess wipes her fingers on the inside of the sleeping bag and withdraws her arm. He reacts immediately, fits his whole body around hers, rutting against her in synch with the flicks of his hands between her legs. She's vaguely aware of Natasha's hand on her hip, drawing circles on her skin, stroking, and with their combined touch, Jess comes, arching into him and reaching back to hold Natasha's hand in place and entwine their fingers, gripping it tightly. 

Come tomorrow, she might regret the hell out of this, but it's not tomorrow yet. Right now, she's warm, slightly sweaty even, and she curls into the heat of his body while she comes down, holding Natasha's hand, riding the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

 

***

 

For a few hours in the morning, while they pack up and go about the descent to their extraction point, there's no grumbling, no snide remarks, no staring matches, just blissful, peaceful silence. Once or twice, Natasha even catches them glancing at each other and _smiling_. No one brings up the obvious elephant in the room as they march through the snow, and Natasha almost dares to hope they managed to bury a few of their differences in last night's release.

Of course, that's a vain hope. On the flight back, they manage to get into an argument over the nutritional value of their travel rations, and by the time they land in New York they're back to glaring daggers at each other. 

It's a lost cause, but Natasha can't help it, she loves them both. She'll keep trying.


End file.
